


what a sea of melting ice i walk on

by beanarie



Series: indisposition [4]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Backstory, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 03:45:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19287451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanarie/pseuds/beanarie
Summary: "Did Dufresne shoot you in the head before he had you tossed in the water?" Eleanor asked Flint in a previous story. "I thought it was a shoulder or something."





	what a sea of melting ice i walk on

**Author's Note:**

> this is for the prompt "you're burning up" from twofrontteethstillcrooked.

Flint returns to life accompanied by someone frantically, breathlessly calling him a bastard. His arm feels as though it's hanging by a thread and he's shivering like a novice nun at Max's lesbian bar. 

"Finally. Jesus fuck." Silver is soaking wet, as is Flint, and the ends of his long hair drip onto Flint's chest. "Welcome back."

The world makes sense again within the hour. Dufresne and his gun, with De Groot, Logan, and the other ungrateful shits at his traitorous back. Flint doesn't have much strength at the moment, but he's willing to test its limits by stalking and murdering every last one of them. Silver has gotten them a car and Flint has done at least fifty percent of the work required to get himself from the edge of the river to said car.

"Don't sleep," Silver says, so of course Flint drifts off immediately.

He blinks back to consciousness confused, in pain, and overly warm. Silver has a hand on Flint's cheek and another at the back of his neck. The sun has come up and Flint can fully appreciate those clear blue eyes, currently crinkled with panic or concern or something of that nature.

"What," Flint says, and Silver retreats in an instant.

"You're burning up."

"I'm not." He is. He hurts all over, but nowhere more than the smoking volcano at his shoulder. Goddamn river water. 

"We can't go to Howell." Silver worries at his lower lip with his teeth. "He was part of it. He'd send for the others and probably smother you on the table."

"Fuck them all," Flint grates out. "I will drive an icepick through their eyes, cut out their tongues, split their scalps down the m-" Coughing, it turns out, places every taxed nerve ending in his body under exponentially more stress. If he could stop to scream, he would.

Silver pushes a water bottle into his hands. "Drink. At least I can do this one thing." With some of the broken glass cleared from his throat, Flint gives Silver an address, and the overt grumbling comes to an end. 

As the scenery changes, Flint drifts from one stage of consciousness to another and back again. The blue of the eyes that lock onto his every so often seems to waver between shades. 

Suddenly the car hits a speed-bump and he curses the ancestors and descendants of everyone involved with the creation of roads, transportation, and bullets. When he stops seeing red, he can tell that Silver is relieved for some reason.

"What just happened?" Flint asks.

Silver's shoulder-blades nearly meet in the middle of his back. "So we're nearly there. Maybe ten more minutes. Try to stay awake long enough to convince your friend not to blow me away with a shotgun."

"I said something. What was it?"

"Doesn't matter."

Flint shifts a few centimeters in Silver's direction, letting the pain contribute to his growl as he repeats himself. "What did I say?"

"You asked if I'm certain my father can't find us."

"Oh." Flint slumps back. Sometimes he manages to get through an entire day without being bowled over by loss. Other times, he sees blond hair and a knowing smile in the shadows and he wants to dive in.

"Are you still awake?" Silver looks at him with renewed concern.

Flint drags his eyes open. He needs a distraction. "Why are you helping me?"

"You know if I hadn't jumped in of my own volition, the crew most likely would've tossed me themselves, after providing a few misplaced air-holes. They never trusted me."

"You did get Joshua dangerously drunk, ply him for information, and convince him he'd offered you a position."

"You knew about that?"

Flint just stares.

Silver throws up his hands in a distantly comical show of frustration. "Are we not all bastards here? How is my way of joining up inherently less trustworthy than, say, De Groot, who got his start on an inside job at his own bank? Traitors, thieves and cutthroats, we're universally aware of our natures and yet entirely hypocritical of the ingenuity of others."

"Ingenuity got my safecracker's stomach pumped?"

"They let him out by morning!"

"Good fucking lord," Miranda says. True to nature, she recovers so quickly she's wrested Flint from Silver's arms before the end of her exclamation. 

"He's not exactly a feather," Silver protests.

"Not to worry, young man." She lets out a grunt as she slams the door in his face. "I have borne this weight for over two decades," she says, almost to herself. "It feels as natural on my frame as my own."

Flint tries to make it easier on her, but, true to his nature, his knees shake then buckle. They barely make it to the bedroom. "Hal," he says, feeling himself fade away.

She pushes the hair from his forehead. "I know, darling idiot. I'm not new."

The sight that greets him next is one of the most self-satisfied grins he has ever witnessed, and with the company Flint keeps, that is saying something. 

Gates looks down at him after adjusting the IV bag. "Let me take this moment to express my deep sense of regret for not following my dear old school chum into a life of crime. He is doing so enviably well."

"Fuck you."

"That's it, my stubborn beauty. Now squeeze my hand like you mean it. I need to check for nerve damage."

Not a soul is around the next time he wakes. This leaves no one to tell him to stay in bed. Additionally, the fact that he is no longer tethered to an IV shows he is ready to be mobile. He takes a very slow turn about the house that comes to an abrupt stop in the parlor. 

Silver is lying shirtless on the couch. There is little doubt in Flint's mind that Miranda offered something to wear. This is just how the man operates, reminding people of his... assets whenever possible. Anything to stay interesting and/or wanted.

After a long beat, Silver blinks at him a few times then stretches like a cat, heedless of the display of rippling muscles Flint refuses to commit to memory. "You're up. Can I get you something? Water, or, I don't know, juice?"

"She ended up letting you in."

He raises himself up, planting his feet on the floor with a smirk. "Probably didn't fancy my chances out there, in clothes damp with river water and stained with your blood."

Flint sits because his head cannot be held up at that height anymore, and notices a clean shirt hanging over the armrest of Miranda's recliner. He won't tell Silver to put it on. That would be irrational and inappropriate. And unnecessary. They are adults.

Silver disappears for a moment then returns with a glass of water. "So what now?" he asks, guiding Flint's hand around it.

What indeed.


End file.
